Finding A Happy Place
by Maeve of Winter
Summary: When Harley starts to worry if she has what it takes to be a hero, she finds encouragement from an unlikely source. AU where Harley is a hero. Sequel to "The Ghost of Christmas Past," episode-inspired by "Harley's Holiday" from BTAS.


Beating up muggers, Harley had decided after only a few weeks of patrolling Gotham every night, was her favorite part of being a superhero.

Sure, going toe to toe with supervillains had more pizzazz, and there was a certain adrenaline rush getting involved in car chases (well, motorcycle chases, given that she rode a Harley, true to her name) in pursuit of some bank or jewel heisters.

But with those types of fights, she always needed to be thinking, plotting, planning her next step. That was the very first lesson Bats had taught her.

"I like to live in the moment," she had told him. "Y'know, improvise. Deal with problems as they come up."

He had looked at her disapprovingly, his mouth set in a hard line. "Improvising is a talent. You need to be adaptable. But if you want to make it as a hero, you need to be able to strategize."

But bashing muggers with her mallet, as she was doing now, didn't require any strategy, just movement, strength, force. She could act without thinking, without worrying, letting her mind go while her muscles performed their regular routine.

It was, she decided, happily swinging the mallet head directly into the attacker's stomach, part of her own personal path to zen.

The mugger collapsed to the ground, his gun clattering to the pavement. Without pausing for a second, Harley quickly drew his arms behind his back and slapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists, and then turned to the shocked family of three—a mother, a father, and their young daughter—who had witnessed the whole encounter after the mugger accosted them.

"Don't worry!" she told them cheerfully, giving a little wave. "You're one hundred percent safe now that you're with me!" She brought her thumb to her chest, indicating herself. "The name's Harley Quinn, and I'm the least brooding of all of Gotham's vigilantes!"

The father opened his mouth to speak but could only make a vague choking sound. The mother took the opportunity to yank both her husband and her daughter toward the opposite end of the alley. They stumbled at first, but then they sprinted, the two parents hurrying their daughter away to get her to safety. Away from any muggers and away from Harley.

Watching them go, any buoyancy drained out of Harley, and she kicked a broken glass bottle in frustration, sending it shattering against a brick wall.

"Never fear," she sighed dejectedly. "Harley's here."

As she stooped to grab the chain on the mugger's handcuffs and haul him to his feet, weariness flooded through her, bringing her muscles to suddenly ache as her limbs to went heavy. And the despondent feeling didn't go away even when she dumped off the mugger and his gun at the Gotham police station, nor when she skated up to Fjordstorm's, the largest luxury clothing and accessories store in all of Gotham. Of course, the various stares she received and whispers she overheard as she waltzed in through the front doors didn't help matters.

Still, Harley tried her best to ignore them and instead concentrate on the dazzling shopping landscape before her. Chic, modern lamps hung down from the high ceiling, bringing the white floor tiles to gleam like the sun glinting off of a field of snow. The bright lights bounced back onto the glass and metal display cases and the various luxuriously packaged cosmetics that were sparkling on the makeup counters, creating the illusion that the entire array was glowing. It was almost as if it were an entire sky full of glinting stars in a whole other galaxy for her to explore.

Drawing in a deep breath, Harley could feel her spirits lifting again. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd loved going to shops and boutiques and seeing in the elaborate arrangements and glossy offerings.

For a moment, she just stood there, drinking it all in. She didn't do enough of this type of stuff anymore—going out just to be out, not because she had training to do or criminals to catch. And even when she was trying to be normal—just the average joe, the general Gothamite—crime-fighting interfered, like how she'd needed to stop and help that family earlier. No matter what she did, it seemed like there was always a baddie to beat. While she didn't really mind, she'd be lying if she said it wasn't beginning to wear on her just the slightest bit.

"It's a sign, Quinn," she said out loud to herself as she glided over to the women's wear section, the wheels of her skates clicking on the ridges in the tiles. "A sign you need to pamper yourself more." And with her severance pay from Arkham tucked firmly in the pocket of her roller girl shorts, spoiling herself was just what she planned to do.

Humming and shimmying along with the upbeat pop tune playing over the radio, Harley paused by a rack of short, clingy dresses and was just about to pick up one with an intriguingly swishy skirt when a bespectacled saleswoman hurried over to her.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the woman began.

"What's up?" Harley asked peppily, turning around to give her full attention to the woman.

"I . . ." Whatever words the saleswoman had been about to speak seemed to die on her lips, and dismay was plain on her as she surveyed Harley from head to toe.

Harley saw the emotions play across her face: uncertainty, suspicion, curiosity, and fear. She should have been used to it by now, as it was how most of Gotham's citizens reacted to her now, and the ones that didn't were usually the ones trying to pummel her.

But being faced with the same reservations twice in one night didn't really do much for a girl's self-esteem, and Harley began to steel herself for a confrontation.

"Just . . ." The saleswoman attempted a smile, but it quickly turned into a grimace as her eyes darted up to Harley's pigtails and then down to her bare abdomen and legs. "Just let us know if you need help finding anything." Without waiting for Harley to respond, she rushed away to a mustachioed security guard and began conferring with him in low tones, both of them glancing back at Harley every so often.

Harley may not have had the Bat's detective skills, but she could clearly see that the woman was afraid of her. Just like everyone else was these days.

Scowling, Harley yanked the dress off the rack and held it up in front of herself as she examined her reflection in the mirror. But at the sight of the image looking back at her, she could only sigh again. With paper-pale skin and unnaturally bright eyes that looked freakish and alien in a complexion as white as hers, her resemblance to Joker was unmistakable. Sure, her hair wasn't green, just an extremely subtle shade of platinum blonde, and nor were her eyes—they were blue and the feature she'd always considered her best. However, even with those differences, their shared similarities were unmistakable to nearly every who encountered her.

It made sense—after all, both she and the Joker been changed by the same chemicals at the Ace plant. It was no wonder people were afraid of her; even when he was dead, an irreversibly altered Harley continued to live, like a ghost come back to haunt Gotham. It was a sign that though the Joker was gone, memories his sadism would always remain. Of course people were terrified of her: she was a living reminder of the man who'd terrorized their city for years.

But he'd terrorized her, too, kidnapping her and throwing her into the acid just because he could, so it really and truly sucked that people only saw him anymore when they looked at her.

Of course, that was why she'd become Harley Quinn. Harleen Quinzel had stopped existing to the public the moment the Joker had tossed her into the acid bath, and Harley had known that if she didn't take a new name for herself, she would be branded the next Joker regardless of what she actually did. And then Harley Quinn, hero of Gotham had been born. Now she just needed to do a better job of convincing the public of the "hero" bit. But she could, and she would.

Determination renewed, Harley skated over to the dressing rooms and swapped out her roller girl threads for the shop dress. On her way back out to the trifold mirror to see how it looked, she also spotted a shimmery white handbag in the rounded shape of a heart with a kisslock closure.

"Absolutely darling," she declared, and whipped it off the shelf, slipping the strap over her shoulder. Then she moved to the mirror to check out the entire ensemble, unable to resist clicking the purse open and closed several times as she did.

The simple outfit looked unexpectedly polished on her, so much so that Harley was caught by surprise. The A-line cut fit snugly against her torso but then folded into relaxed pleats for a more than sufficiently twirly skirt that fell halfway to her knees. The combination of soft colors, with her white skates and purse with the pastel dress, made her appear unusually soft and sweet.

"All the better to fool people," Harley reasoned saucily to herself, but she still took the time to admire her reflection, turning around and looking over her shoulder so she could get a view at every angle. The blush pink fabric of the dress actually seemed to complement her complexion, which was a welcome change. A lot of colors seemed just plain off when they were stuck working against the deathly pallor of her skin.

She mused on the subject as she returned to the dressing room and gathered her shorts and shirt, folding them into tiny squares before stuffing them into the small purse. Actually, she'd been thinking about dying her hair in an attempt to offset the contrast, but she had trouble picking just one color.

Returning to the mirror, Harley examined her reflection critically. Maybe she could go half-and-half, with one color on one side and a different color on the other? Red and black, maybe? But that might look too harsh. Maybe she would stay blonde and just tint the ends of her hair something bright, like red or blue or both.

But she could worry about hairstyling later. For now, Harley just wanted to preen in her dress and revel in her fantastic find. Normal girl or Jokerized freak, she thought, striking a model pose with one hand on her hip and the other tossing back her pigtails, it was always terrific to score the perfect fit when hunting for clothes. Utterly delighted, she found herself going through a few of her old gymnastics moves.

Just as she finished a pirouette, delighted by how the flared skirt of the dress swirled around her, someone else joined her at the mirror, a tall, muscular man with dark and bright blue eyes (in other words, a total hunk).

"It's a fantastic color on you," he offered, giving her a kind smile.

Heartened by the compliment, Harley grinned at the stranger. "Just the color? What about the rest of it?"

He chuckled. "That, too."

Harley tilted her head, studying him. "Do I know you? I swear, some about your chin looks familiar . . ."

The stranger had a very impressive square jaw, just like a cover model on those romance novels Harley liked to read. Maybe that was why the feature nagged at the back of Harley's mind.

"I don't believe so," the stranger said amiably. He extended a hand. "I'm Bruce Wayne. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Charmed as well!" Instead of shaking his hand, Harley give the back of his palm a nice long smooch, and took it as a compliment when he didn't even double-take. "Gotta say, though, I didn't really believe you existed outside of the society pages. Little did I know you hung around clothing stores looking to pick up girls."

"Only the girls who've decided to take up the mantle of a superhero," Bruce returned easily.

The response sent a jolt of surprise through Harley. With the amount of skepticism she'd been faced with so far, she'd begun to think only Bats believed in her."You know? About me trying to be a hero?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he replied. "After all, you rescued Veronica Vreeland from Boxy Bennett just last week."

"Most of the papers got that wrong, though," Harley told him, some frustration slipping into her tone. "They thought I was either working with Boxy all along, or that I doublecrossed him to try to ransom off V.V. on my own."

"And I've never believed a word of it," Bruce said firmly. "Veronica is a good friend of mine, and she herself told me about how you helped her. I think it was quite courageous of you."

"V.V. stuck up for me?" Harley brightened. "Whatta girl! I should send her flowers sometime!"

"Speaking of flowers, I meant to bring you some when you were in the hospital after the Joker's attack," Bruce told her. "I must have missed you, though, because by the time I reached the hospital, you were already gone."

"Poison Ivy and I were off painting the town," Harley told him breezily. "But then she ran off to the jungle to do her eco thing, and I stuck around."

"I'm glad that you did," Bruce said warmly. "We could always use another person in Gotham who's focused on helping others. And you seem like you're a good fit for the job."

"Quite the charmer, aren't you?" Harley grinned at him as a thrill zipped through him at his words. Not only did she get to flirt with Bruce Wayne, boy billionaire, but he thought she was good people! She would be living off of these compliments for weeks to come. "Well, Mr. Wayne, it was smashing of you to think of me."

"Since you never got those flowers, why don't I take you to dinner?" Bruce suggested. "It will be my treat. You can tell all about what's been keeping you busy in Gotham right now."

Harley gasped, barely daring to believe it. "You're asking me on a date?"

"And hoping you'll accept." He smiled at her and offered her his arm.

Inwardly, Harley was jumping up and down for joy, but she forced herself to play it cool. "Just let me pay for this dress and purse, and I'd be happy to go with you." Ecstatic was a better description, but the trick with boys was never to let on just how much you liked them.

"No need," Bruce told her. "I've already had the clerks add your items to my account."

"You planned this, then," Harley realized. "Well, I like a man with a plan." She gave him a wink before grabbing his arm and neatly tucking it over her shoulders. "In that case, lead on, Mr. Wayne."

"Call me Bruce," he invited her. "There's no need to be so formal, especially not when I hope we'll be talking regularly."

"I'm not much of one for being regular," Harley warned him. "But I do like to talk." And she didn't really talk to anyone these days beyond Bats, who really wasn't much of a conversationalist. Talking to Bruce would be a welcome change. "Look at that, we've already found a happy medium."

Happy, Harley thought as they walked (well, she was still in her skates) out of the store together. It had been a long time since she had felt this kind of happy, not since she'd been together with Pammy. And while it was kind of silly just how happy a simple dinner invitation could make her, it seemed even sillier to not enjoy the moment.

Harley let out a contented sigh as she moved side by side with Bruce, and she sent him a sunny smile when she caught his eye, which he returned.

Maybe she was a little overly optimistic considering her situation. But somehow, Harley had a feeling that this dinner with Bruce was the beginning of something beautiful for the both of them.


End file.
